


The FUBAR Affair

by Brink182



Series: The FUBAR Trilogy [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Forced Voyeurism, M/M, Multi, Offscreen Violence, Poor Illya, Torture, does it still count as 'graphic'?, forced fellatio, gangrape, napoleon realizes FEELINGS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 23:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4584879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brink182/pseuds/Brink182
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a mission goes wrong, Gaby, Napoleon and Illya have to help each other recover. Also, Napoleon makes a self-discovery that could change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The FUBAR Affair

**Author's Note:**

> from urbandictionary.com:  
> FUBAR: Fucked Up beyond All Recognition. Generally used in the context of a situation/operation/mission that is messed up so bad it is beyond salvaging.  
> Kind of pretty much sums up the story...  
> Thanks to Alex and Kana_Go for translating help!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Illya is lying insensible in the infirmary, Napoleon tells Waverly how they were captured and tortured.

**The FUBAR Affair**

**By: Brink182**

**Disclaimer:** _The Man from U.N.C.L.E._ is owned by NBC Universal and Warner Brothers.

* * *

**Chapter One: How it Happened**

The broken body lay on the bed, curled in on itself as much as possible due to the numerous injuries it sported. The eyes drifted between the floor and wall of the infirmary. An empty shell of what he once was. He murmured quietly to himself in Russian. Meanwhile, a dark-haired man sat at a table in another room, eyes cast down upon folded hands on top of the table, as he recounted how it had come to this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Napoleon Solo was looking for his partner, Illya Kuryakin, when he walked into a clever ambush and was captured. He was brought into a room wherein he saw his missing partner lying upon the floor. He'd clearly been tortured prior to Napoleon's arrival. His left arm was obviously broken, his clothes were in tatters, allowing the numerous cuts and bruises on his body to be visible. Napoleon doubted that was the extent of the Russian's injuries, but it was all he could see at present.

"Mr. Solo, we meet again," said a voice from within a shadowy corner of the room, "so glad you could make it. Your friend here is not so good with the talking."

Napoleon carefully kept his voice light.

"Russians, what can you do?"

"Excellent question," replied the voice, "we were just about to begin part two. How fortunate you arrived when you did! Now, you can watch, Mr. Solo, and maybe you will prove more sociable than this one."

'Part two' sounded rather ominous. Napoleon dreaded to think what it might pertain to. He soon found himself strapped down to a chair about halfway between the door and the center of the room where Illya lay unmoving. 

"Now that you are seated, we shall begin."

One of the assembled men grabbed a bucket of water from... _somewhere_ , apparently and tossed the contents onto the prone man. Illya's blue eyes flew open.

"Wakey-wakey, Kuryakin!" sing-songed their captor.

The men began unbuckling their belts and unbuttoning their trousers.

_Surely they weren't planning to..._ It was a bluff. A scare tactic. It had to be. Then again, their last encounter with Gregor Petros very nearly ended in this same situation. 

Napoleon returned to the present to see one of Petros' men straddling a stripped Illya.

"Now, Mr. Solo, will you talk?"

"You really like the sound of your own voice, don't you?"

"You can't win, Solo," said Petros, "either you talk or all my men enjoy Kuryakin's body. Either way, you lose, but at least if you talk, your  _friend_ gets off a little easier."

Napoleon clamped his lips together. Idle threats didn't scare a top agent like him. Petros sighed heavily.

"Then, let what happens next fall upon your pretty and long-limbed conscience."

At a signal from Petros, the man thrusted into Illya. He is silent. Napoleon opened his mouth to protest, but just as quickly closed it. They wanted them to react. If they didn't, then they wouldn't get what they wanted. They couldn't win.

The henchman soon fell into a rhythm of his own choosing. Napoleon was still finding it hard to believe he was actually watching this. The man soon withdrew, leaving a milky fluid dribbling out of Illya's ass down his thighs. Napoleon tugged at his restraints. They were still tight. Another henchman took the place of the first. He had a slightly more brutal rhythm. Illya had to work harder to keep silent. The man hammering into him didn't seem to notice or care. By time they had got to the fourth guy, tears had started to slip soundlessly down Illya's cheeks. Napoleon wanted to put a stop to this, but he couldn't. Giving up the location of the plans meant putting lots of innocent lives at risk. Not even Illya was worth that on his conscience.

He was starting to lose track of how many men had plundered his partner, when Illya let out a small, nearly inaudible cry. Another man took over. Petros appeared once more in Napoleon's line of sight.

"Have you changed your mind, Mr. Solo?" he asked, "will you tell me what I want to know?"

Napoleon closed his eyes.

"I can't."

His voice was quiet. Resigned.

"Працягвайце."

***

The man gripping Illya's hips thrust into him. Illya cried out loudly. Napoleon hated the sound. The first man had another turn. He made Illya scream this time. Napoleon's wrists were bleeding from his struggles in the chair, but he paid no attention to it. It was only a minor inconvenience. 

"Pretty little Russian spy..."

Illya was suddenly dragged onto his knees with a meaty fist ahold of blond locks.

"You've been neglecting his pretty mouth!" Petros chastised his men, "this needs to be remedied, does it not, Mr. Solo?"

"No! Don't!"

Illya was too broken to fight them, as they prised his mouth open. Napoleon was fairly inexperienced with this particular act, having only had it done once. She'd turned out to be a T.H.R.U.S.H. agent, which kind of explained things, really. T.H.R.U.S.H. agent or not, it'd been a rather pleasant experience. Though, being forced into it, probably not so nice.

Illya clumsily pleasured the men who had just raped him. Napoleon continued in vain to try and free himself. Pressure was put on Illya's broken arm. Illya gasped and opened his mouth wider. Napoleon watched, horrified, as Illya's mouth was invaded by two pricks. The Russian spy choked on the erections shoved down his throat. Napoleon winced. This was worse than torture. Much worse.

"STOP! YOU'RE CHOKING HIM!"

Petros leaned closer to Napoleon and stroked his cheek. Napoleon jerked his head away.

"Aww...feeling left out, Agent Solo? I could fix that for you...I remember the last time we met so well..."

Petros caressed Napoleon's crotch. He jolted as much as his bonds would allow. His wrists were going to look like hamburger when this was all over.

"No!"

Petros left Napoleon and approached his men.

"You heard the man-leave Kuryakin alone!"

Petros looked at Napoleon over his shoulder and grinned.

"He is mine."

Napoleon paled. He had thought Gregor wouldn't personally involve himself, but again, he was proven wrong. Of course Petros wouldn't resist getting involved. The man had an insatiable sexual appetite. Illya was lying crumpled upon the concrete floor. Petros yanked him upright by his broken arm.

"Ah!"

"You should be an expert at this by now, my канарэечка," Petros cooed.

Illya looked ready to collapse again but managed to remain upright. He opened his mouth for the crime boss. Petros ran his hands through Illya's hair and closed his brown eyes.

"I've wanted this ever since the very first time I saw you, залацiстая пявучая птушачка," he murmured.

He groaned in pleasure and gripped Illya's hair tighter. Napoleon looked away. He couldn't watch any more, but he couldn't block out the sounds.

***

Napoleon heard Petros finish. He turned his head just in time to see his partner vomit on the floor. Petros stroked himself back into hardness and flipped Illya over onto his back and grabbed his legs. He held Illya's knees while he thrusted into him. Illya sobbed brokenly. Petros slobbered all over his victim's neck and face. When Petros was done, he lay on top of Illya, petting his hair, kissing his face and murmuring to him in gentle tones. Finally, Petros pulled out of him with a wet plop. He called his goons back in and retreated back into his corner. Illya mumbled in Russian and continued to cry. 

"Нет. Прекратите. Хватит, пожалуйста."

They descended upon him like a pack of hungry wolves. Napoleon had to stop this.

"Stop! I'll-"

Napoleon couldn't finish his sentence. Their rescue had finally arrived. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Translations:  
> Belorussian:  
> 1) Працягвайце (Praciahvajcie)-continue  
> 2) канарэечка (kanareječka)-little canary  
> 3) залацiстая пявучая птушачка (zalacistaja piavučaja ptušačka)- little golden songbird  
> Russian:  
> 1) Нет (Net)- no  
> 2) Прекратите (Prekratite)-stop  
> 3)Хватит, пожалуйста (Khvatit, pozhaluysta)-no more, please  
> *Thanks to Kana_Go for translations


End file.
